


Cobwebs And Starlight

by ununoriginal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-04-02
Updated: 2002-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-14 13:31:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/837415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ununoriginal/pseuds/ununoriginal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two lovers are forced to part 'in the name of the greater good'. Slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cobwebs And Starlight

He is where I thought he would be. As the door to the deserted classroom at the top of the North Tower creaks open, my gaze is caught by the head of silk-spun gold, gilded to platinum by the faint light streaming in through the open window. The sky outside is pitch-black – the shimmer of the stars too feeble to pierce the darkness. Yet he seems to draw all the meagre illumination to his slender self, leaving him framed in glowing incandescence.

It is way past midnight, and we have already travelled deep into the witching hour, when all things are silent and serene to the point of eeriness, and almost anything feels possible in the all-encompassing stillness.

It was on a night like this, at a time like this, that we began.

And it will also be on such a night and hour that it would all be over.

"I was once told that good memories imprint themselves on the fabric of one's mind, to be savoured and treasured forevermore, but why is it these recollections that burn behind my eyes seem to be consist of nothing but tears?"

He speaks without preamble, just like he always does when we are here. Maybe the darkness makes it easier, reducing everything into its simplest parts. Without the light, all the illusions our eyes perceive are stripped away. And in this room belonging to no particular creature jostling for supremacy on the school crest, titles, names, and labels all become inconsequential. Here, standing on neutral ground, shielded by the gloom that blinds us, he is just him. And I am just me.

The moment is everything. Past and future lose their significance. All that has meaning is the here and now. Perhaps that is why we could come together, because the shadows gave their blessing and hid the moon that night – and every night since then that we've become one.

What we have is too fragile. It cannot stand up to the slightest nudge. Even something as weak as the lunar glare might rend it asunder. The thread that connects us is cobwebs and starlight: ethereal, painfully thin, unbearably beautiful.

His words still ring in my ears, and for once, they do not blend into the tranquillity like they used to. I stand frozen by the doorway. I do not know how to answer him, cannot even find the merest platitude to falsely soothe him. Because nothing like this has ever happened before. A new element has been brought in – time. And its presence has dealt the illusory agelessness we existed in a fatal blow. I try to close my mind to the finality I sense building ominously.

"But weren't they…" I cut myself off.

He still doesn't turn around, eyes focused on a far-off something that I never see. "Just say it."

"Weren't they worth it, some of it, at least? Some of them were good – wonderful… THIS was good… wasn't it?" I think there is a note of pleading in my voice, and maybe I should have felt resentment, or anger, that I have come to this, but it is just not the time and place.

I have to have this confirmation, his affirmation. I need it, inexplicably, if I am to carry on. I know my trials are not over yet, though the support most likely to bring me through, to sustain me through my life's tribulations, appears to be crumbling. The greatest hurdle is yet to come. But somewhere within my core, I can sense that nothing will wound me more than this moment, this place, this time, this person.

Before and beyond.

"Yes, it was one of the best periods of my life. I was nothing before you." My heart leaps and prepares to soar, until I detect that hint of ridicule tinting his words. He turns around to face me, countenance still like pale marble, but his eyes blaze with an emotion that I know is reflected in mine.

"Is that what you wanted to hear?" His features take on mocking self-deprecation. "You know I can't lie to you, not when we're here."

"Then?…" I am aware of my selfishness, in pushing him, forcing him to speak words that are obviously hard for him to form, but I need to know that this "thing" we have holds some deep meaning for him as well, that for him, it was equally a wonderful thing.

"I… I really don't know. I don't know these things anymore," he whispers and looks away. The sadness within him is palpable, and l long to reach out, to enfold him in an embrace that would at least provide an illusion of comfort, but now I'm too wary, too scared that he will let me go too easily after I touch him.

My hands are stained, regardless of how clean the skin looks, and it has become too difficult to touch him, with fingers soaked in acts that were sins, despite the cruel necessity of committing them. We both know what we will see if we come into contact.

Where there was once nothing but fervent need and desperate mingling breaths, there would rage a well of hate and pain. If I close my eyes, he might no longer be standing by the window, but an older image of him would be sprawled on the chilly stone floor, head twisted to an impossible angle and liquid crimson trickling through the blond strands. I might be on my knees worshipping the expanse of velvet skin under my lips, but at any instant, it would mutate – and I would be towering, wand in hand, over a similar figure which has been shattered and torn, looking into grey eyes that still seemed filled with the wrath of unfulfilled ambition. Our lips might be the slightest hair's breadth away from touching, but instead of the anticipation wreathing the delicate features, I can see nothing but the unending grief that has shrouded him since that fateful day.

The remorse within me is all the more greater, knowing that even if it happened all over again, I would have acted the same way, done the same things, without a moment's hesitation.

It's all supposed to be for the greater good, but at times like these, I wonder how the good can truly be greater if it so deeply cuts the one who is so terribly important to me?

"Please…" Although I am no longer sure what I'm asking for. I cannot expect him to stay, and do I really deserve his forgiveness, for something I would have chosen to do, whether I had only one chance or a hundred?

"You have to go. There are other things you have to do." His voice has returned to calmness, and I can almost imagine that we were back in the fantasy of before. But he would never have said such words, if it were a mirage.

"I'm sor—"

"Don't say it!" He cuts me off fiercely, stiffening, his back almost trembling almost imperceptibly as he whirls away to clench his fists around the windowsill. "What's done is done. We knew it would have happened, sooner or later." He draws in a shaky breath. "I only wish it could have been later."

My will breaks, and I have to go to him, have to put my arms around him, even though it causes him pain, because I am also the only one who can ease it. He struggles at first, but I am prepared for it, and I hang on grimly, waiting for him to subside.

Finally he weakens, relinquishing his control, and his deadweight makes me stumble back against the wall. We slide down to the ground together, him firmly within my embrace. He is quiet now, and for a heart-stopping instant, it feels like before, and I allow myself the luxury to imagine what might have been, if we had not been born as we are, Montague and Capulet.

"Let's stay like this for a while." My voice is but a breath, but he would have understood.

"Alright… until the break of dawn then." It is fitting, I suppose. Come morning, the sun's rays would bleach us away.

"After this…" I do not think I can ever say the words. I feel the lump forming at the back of my throat, and I tighten my hold on him convulsively.

He squeezes my fingers in return. "Take care, Harry."

"You too…" I whisper three more words into his hair, and lean back to rest my head against the wall. My vision has become blurry even with my glasses.

I concentrate on the warm flow of liquid dripping onto our fingers.


End file.
